


Morning, Sunshine

by BetweenTheStars



Series: The Filth Chronicles [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Blow Jobs, Bottom Steve Rogers, Comeplay, Dom/sub Undertones, Idiots in Love, Implied Bottom Bucky Barnes, M/M, Morning Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Not Canon Compliant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, See yall in hell, Steve Rogers is a little shit, The Author Regrets Nothing, Top Bucky Barnes, but what's new, i.e using it as lube, it's dirty as hell but lowkey soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22656577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetweenTheStars/pseuds/BetweenTheStars
Summary: "Come on," Steve says in a honey-sweet tone, that goddamned smile of his not even dulling. In fact, if Bucky were paying any attention, it gotbrighter, lighting up the room more than the actual, literal sun.But maybe Bucky's just over-exaggerating."You got any better ways to wake up in mind? I think I'm doing you a service. First a pillowfort, and now some added hairstyling." While Bucky processes ten different ways he could murder Steve and get away with it, Steve reaches out, albeit after a sheepish pause from the murder look he was getting, and flicks some bangs out of Bucky's face. Bucky flinches, his metal hand darting up to flick Steve's nose back.After a few seconds of stubborn silence and even more stubborn patience on the blond's end, Bucky says, "A blowjob would have been nice. Maybe it'd have shut you up. Many lives could be saved from that damn earthquake snoring you’ve got going on, mine included."
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: The Filth Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629916
Comments: 2
Kudos: 141





	Morning, Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> Woke up three days ago with filth on my mind. This is the result of said filth.

When Bucky wakes up, it's to a loud snore and an equally disgusting noise that's half crossed with a snort, and half crossed with something beyond human. Like an oversized, sleepy bull with arms gripping around his waist like a goddamn octopus.

Huffing, Bucky attempts- keyword: _attempts_ \- to sit up, only for that sleepy bull to see red and roll over, crushing Bucky beneath his weight and with it, bringing a whole pile of pillows toppling down onto them both.

Steve's laugh is rough and muffled under the layers of Target-bought decor pillows. So he's awake, then. Bastard.

"Off," Bucky demands, shoving at what he thinks is Steve's chest. He ends up batting uselessly at one hip, to which one of Steve's hands comes down to catch, tugging Bucky's wrist up to his face so that he could kiss it, as if that made amends to the sudden mess he's made. The angle twists Bucky's arm uncomfortably, and he huffs again, this time out of pain and annoyance; a little bit of both.

" _Off_ ," He says again, wiggling around like a fish out of water.

Finally, after what seems like forever, Steve lets him go and sits up. The fortified pillows built up around him topple some more, but now there's a clear opening for Bucky to dig himself out of, and so he does; digs himself up and out and doesn't hide his glare when Steve's happy, smiley face meets his own grumpy one. His hair's a mess, no thanks to the added friction from scratchy, cheap fabric. Bucky swears under his breath, reaching up for the cow lick swooping across his forehead. "You goddamn asshole," He says.

"Come on," Steve says in a honey-sweet tone, that goddamned smile of his not even dulling. In fact, if Bucky were paying any attention, it got _brighter_ , lighting up the room more than the actual, literal sun.

But maybe Bucky's just over-exaggerating.

"You got any better ways to wake up in mind? I think I'm doing you a service. First a pillowfort, and now some added hairstyling." While Bucky processes ten different ways he could murder Steve and get away with it, Steve reaches out, albeit after a sheepish pause from the murder look he was getting, and flicks some bangs out of Bucky's face. Bucky flinches, his metal hand darting up to flick Steve's nose back.

"Fuck off," He says simply.

Steve scoots closer, his smile turning into a pout.

"God," Bucky groans. He shoves at Steve's face, ducking away from the puppy eyes aimed at him. "I hate you. I was having a good night's rest; I was getting _beauty sleep_ —"

"Yeah, yeah, the Winter Soldier suffers so much these days," Steve drawls. "You haven't answered my question."

"What?"

"My question."

"I fucking—" Bucky huffs, again. Not that anybody's keeping track but himself. "I heard you, you asshole." He runs a hand through his hair (of course, yet again) and slumps back against the cushions, Steve's amused expression following him downwards. After a few seconds of stubborn silence and even more stubborn patience on the blond's end, Bucky says, "A blowjob would have been nice. Maybe it'd have shut you up. Many lives could be saved from that damn earthquake snoring you’ve got going on, mine included."

"And if that doesn't work?" Steve questions, just barely concealing a chuckle.

Bucky narrows his eyes. They both have super-hearing; if Steve's going to try and hide anything from anyone, it ain't gonna be from him, that's for damn sure.

"If I answer will you make it come true?"

"You mean test this hypothetical of yours?" Steve muses. "I mean yeah, I guess I could give it a shot. Since you want me so quiet an' all."

Bucky nods. Fair enough. "I'd just have to do this," Raising his left hand, he cards his fingers through Steve's short, messy hair and tugs him down into a kiss that's far from gentle. Steve hums into it, the cat who got the carney, and presses closer, running his tongue in a line across Bucky's lower lip. But it ends too soon, the pair breaking apart for some much-needed air on Bucky's part.

Steve barely looks affected, the bastard.

"That's it?" He says, all cocksure and teasing. His finger traces the prominent line of Bucky's jaw, stopping near his dimpled chin. Bucky shudders.

"What else could I do?" He retorts. "Riddle me that, Rogers."

"Oh, I'll riddle you alright," Steve laughs. As he shifts himself, Bucky's legs automatically spread and create some room for Steve to fit into, which Steve does, right after pulling the very same metallic fingers from his hair and trailing them down to his neck. Hesitantly, Bucky's fingers wrap around and tighten by an imperceptible amount. Steve breathes, his airways now slightly constricted, and grins, blushing and glad for all of their recent discoveries. Namely modern kinks and their never-ending libidos.

Steve doesn't need words to get across what he means, and neither does Bucky. For all he knows, Bucky's got him under his shiny, metal thumb and Steve's got no damn control over it whatsoever.

Tracing the ridge of an outer vein, Bucky says, his voice low and his pupils wide, "That's one way to go about it, sure," and he tugs Steve down, continuing the kiss they both fought hard not to get lost in earlier. This time, _Bucky's_ the one who traces Steve's full bottom lip, and it's _Steve_ who shudders in response, not him. For all the effort he puts into his act, Steve sure can go from confident to whiny just from a flick of a switch.

Or, a flick of Bucky's tongue, rather.

He's getting bored, though. Sue him. He and Steve usually escalate by now— granted, they're usually wearing a lot more clothes, too, but it's not like that ever stops either of them when they're desperate enough. Bucky gets his right hand free from where it had been clutching at the bedspread and slides it down, slow and teasing and maybe even digging his nails in just by a little, creating dull, red lines, until he's cupping Steve's ass, massaging the cheek between his fingers and lower palm. Steve moans into his mouth, and then pulls away. His back's arching and his hips are rolling back into Bucky's hand by the time he speak up;

"Please,"

And it's that word- that one, tiny little word- that snaps the stubborn cord inside of Bucky's chest.

In a flash, Steve's on his back and Bucky's caging him in, nipping and sucking at the expanse of his skin; chin, throat, jaw, lips— anywhere and everywhere he could get his greedy mouth on, Bucky does, and he does so with enough eagerness to have Steve arching up from the bed, his nails digging lines down his back that will take hours to heal.

He's planning on it.

"Fuck, baby," Bucky breathes, grinding their hips together. Steve's cock is hard and insistent— Bucky's is too. When they rub together, it creates a steady friction that sends pleasant shivers down Steve's spine and to his toes, like a tidal wave in his veins, just thrumming to get out, get over, _get inside him already, Christ_ —

"Please," Steve begs again, baring his throat. Bucky graces him with a pleased rumble that sends another shiver down his spine, this time with heat following on its heels. His cock throbs, angry and wet already. Bucky seems to notice it at the same time Steve does; looks down between both of their legs and finds the stain on Steve's briefs, growing wetter and wetter as each moment passes by. The sight alone catches the breath in Bucky's chest, making his next groan sound stuttered and uneven.

"Tell me what you want," He demands, as if they both don't know that it's obvious enough already. But Steve's too desperate to care about the teasing, and so he answers obediently:

" _Fuck me_ ," And he knows that he's got Bucky in his corner by the way that bastard smirks and nips a fading hickey, like a pat on the back for a job well done.

Oh, but they're far from done right now.

"Lube?" Bucky husks, blindly fumbling through the top drawer of their night stand.

"Can't get in me otherwise," Steve says back, cheeky.

The hand in search for the small bottle stops, and Bucky lifts his head enough to meet Steve's eyes, his eyebrow arched, his lips red and bitten. "Considering that you're leaking enough to fill a dam, I disagree."

Steve feels his face catch fire faster than kindling over cotton. He clears his throat, both horrified and aroused by that particular thought: of Bucky using nothing but the pre-come dripping down Steve's cock, of forcing him to endure a longer stretch time simply because _it just wasn't slippery enough_.

Bucky must be thinking the same thing, because suddenly his hand is out the drawer and his weight is shifting to the side, now able to tug down the last of offending fabric off of Steve's legs without giving him a taste of Bucky's own skin, hidden behind a layer of military-grade shorts and a tank top. More of that skin, Steve wants; always more and more.

"Buck," Steve says, although it comes out as more of a squeak as Bucky's finger swipes across the head of his cock. He uses the metal one, too, and Steve shouldn't be so turned on by the sight of how much the pre-come made the metal shine, but he hopelessly, helplessly was.

Bucky hums, bringing the finger up to his mouth to catch a taste. He smirks around his finger while the blush on Steve's face travels south. "Not bad," He comments, licking his lips. "It might do the job well."

"What job?" Steve asks shakily, the breath in his lungs stolen.

Bucky looks at him like he just asked a very dumb question; like he's a silly puppy, far too pure for this world. "You know what," Is all he says.

And damn, god _damn_ , does he really. Steve breathes out a broken noise and Bucky stays true to his word, dipping his finger back down for seconds and swirling it 'round and 'round, his finger getting shinier and shinier. Oddly enough, the sensation isn't as teasing as he thought it would be. He's too stunned to really feel anything else besides surprise and a healthy dose of arousal, which certainly might not be as healthy as he was saying. If this was his last day on Earth, then what a great way to go.

Once Bucky was satisfied with the amount of slick he had on his first digit, he spreads his thighs and thus, forcing Steve to do the same, and circles his finger at the furled muscle, slowly pressing it in bit by bit, but never going past the first knuckle. It was driving Steve out of his goddamn _mind_. He'd gotten this far, hadn't he? And now he was paying the price for being too stupid to think Bucky would give him what he wanted just like that, only after a few needy looks and shameless begging. On his softer days, sure, Bucky would give it up easier; make him come over and over again while he's at it, too. But it was clear from the start: today wasn't soft, and Bucky wasn't going to grant him mercy anytime soon. Payback for waking him up the way he did.

Steve mewls when Bucky hooks his finger by the smallest bit. They've known each other's bodies inside and out since before Steve could heal from marks by the next morning, so it comes as no surprise that on top of all of the teasing going on, he's avoiding Steve's prostate, even going as far as curling his finger in the complete _opposite_ direction while the rest of the digit makes itself home inside of his body. One finger down, three more to go. Christ.

"Not enough," Bucky grunts, once he's gotten a steady pace going that has Steve both trembling for more and praying to a God he no longer believes in that he lasts five more minutes, please, just five more.

Steve makes an inquiring noise that's half as much breath as it is noise.

"Slick," Bucky adds, ridding Steve's body empty and oddly hollow without the addicting feeling of being stuffed. The digit returns to the pool of pre-come building on the dip between Steve's abs, this time a second finger joining the first. But it's still not enough, unfortunately. Not even up to Steve's own standards, which are usually pretty low when he's in the state that he's in.

"S'okay, I got an idea,"

This idea apparently includes a tight fist and a hot mouth, Bucky bending down to envelop the head between his lips and _suck_ , pulling out Steve's higher brain functioning along with the most wanton moan he's made all morning— possibly even in his entire life.

Bucky's head bobs down, taking him down his throat easily, and Steve scrambles to get a hand in all that accessible, brunette hair before he blows his load and sees the face of God, who so happens to look just like the devil between his legs, if he had to take a guess. "Oh," Steve moans, low and throaty. His hips come up off of the bed in an attempt to fuck into the hot, wet heat around him, but Bucky's quick on his feet and is already pinning down Steve's hips before that becomes too much of a problem. Steve whimpers helplessly, struggling against the tight hold Bucky's got on him. His left hand was definitely leaving bruises behind, and Steve hoped, although dimly, that they'd stay so he'd be able to gaze at them later; show them off for a possible round two once they wake up and amble their way into the shower.

Bucky hums when Steve's cock hits the back of his throat, and the vibrations head straight for the heat coiling in his gut, pulling tighter and tighter the more suction there is. Don't even get him _started_ on how Bucky looks, with his lips all red and his chin covered in drool; his metal fist wrapped around the length of Steve's cock and pumping in time with his bobbing head. With a curse, Steve tugs at the silky strands between his fingers and hoarsely warns that he's close, so close, and that he'll never let Bucky down for asking for a blowjob and giving one instead. That makes Bucky laugh, but he shrugs it off because, well, he's got a point.

"I'm not kidding," Steve continues, feeling panicky. "Get offa me or I'm _gonna fuckin' come-!_ "

Bucky hollows his cheeks and comes up with a lewd _pop_ , Steve's spit-slick cock falling onto his abs and, as before, only now getting even more slick. How that was supposed to help anybody, God only knows. But Bucky looks smug and happy, and that mischievous glint is still in his eyes, so Steve knows that it's not over yet.

Just as he's thinking about it, Bucky re-wraps his metal fist around Steve's cock and flicks his wrist, jerking him off tight and fast. Steve doesn't have enough breath in his lungs to warn him this time. He writhes, first bucking into his fist, and then trying to get away, happy to proceed but not ready for it to be over yet. Bucky still doesn't give him any mercy, and when his orgasm hits much like a freight train in the Alps (not that he knows what that's like all too well), it's then and only then that Steve figures out where this plan has been heading all along.

He pants heavily as the hand on him slows and eventually comes to a stop. Bucky might be a total dickbag when he wants to be, but he's nice enough to give Steve a bit of reprieve to recover from the powerful orgasm, and in the meantime, while Steve's delirious and catching his breath, he scoops up the resounding come splattered over his abs and uses that as more lube to slip his fingers right back where they belong: buried deep inside of Steve until he can't feel anything else.

"There we go," Bucky all but purrs, pushing himself up and wiping at his chin with his free hand. His eyes are fixated on where both digits enter and exit Steve's body, pumping in and out at a pace slow enough to get used to, but not slow enough to calm down from. Languid is a word Steve would use to describe something comfortable and all-consuming, and he's anything but right now.

A third finger presses at Steve's hole; it could have been five minutes since the first one entered or it could have been thirty, for all he knew. The only thing concerning him was the heat re-coiling itself in his abdomen and in his cock, which was now laying proudly and growing hard enough to pound nails. It never really softened from the get-go; the only benefit of the super-serum that Steve had the great pleasure of not disclosing with anybody but Bucky and Natasha after a drunken night of mead and truth or dare. The same night, in fact, is what spurred on their interest in the more kinkier side of the world, due to Natasha mentioning something along the lines of BDSM and how well it'd suit two veteren grandpas like them.

The stretch isn't painful after all of the prepping they've done, but it does elicit a small hiss from Steve's lips, spurred on by the searching twist of Bucky's fingers. When he seems to find what he's looking for, he presses down and earns a shout, Steve's back bowing. All this time and he had yet to get that bundle of nerves grazed; all this time and still, even without touch, his prostate is aching and overstimulated. Inside of him, Bucky's fingers continue to curl and press, rubbing tiny little circles over Steve's prostate until he's nothing more than a writhing, shaking mess. Distantly, he's aware that he's begging for it to stop, for Bucky to slow down some, to give him a break. But all he gets is a firm bite on his thigh and a kiss directly afterwards, soothing the sting like a balm over a sunburn.

Bucky’s voice is rough, and his teeth are sharp when they graze past the delicate jut of Steve’s hip. “Turn over,” He says, finally relenting and pulling his fingers out. Steve can’t tell if it’s better or worse, not having something there to soothe the want inside of him. Compared to the overwhelming amount of pleasure he was subjected to moments prior, Steve decides that yes, it’s better, but not enough for him to call this off. If anything, as soon as the order leaves Bucky’s mouth, he’s already working to get up and flip over, unceremoniously grinding his hips into the soft bedding under his hips. Bucky puts a stop to the movement with another bite, this time on Steve’s ass; a warning, or if you’re a stubborn little shit like Steve Rogers, a _challenge_.

He wiggles some more, creating a mess of the sheets and an even bigger mess of his stomach. The teeth digging into his skin lessen up and pull back, leaving a deep mark in its wake. Bucky chuckles, smug in a way that lets Steve know he’s been figured out from the start. Asshole.

“Brat,” He says fondly.

“Jerk,” Steve fires back from the faceful of sheets he’s taken to bury himself in. Their mingled scents are on it, ones of gunpowder and musk and the subtle hint of the tangy dryer sheets they use with each wash. He breathes it all in and then pushes his head to the side, so that his left cheek is pressed to the mattress and he’s able to somewhat look over his shoulder at Bucky, who goes ahead and drags his hips up from the bed. The loss and the faint sensation of the cool, morning air against his heated skin makes Steve gasp, his thighs spreading apart to feel more of that sensation. And if he’s also trying to egg Bucky on into hurrying the Hell up, then that’s just something only he needs to know.

Bucky’s right hand trails down the curve of his ass and lands on the back of his thigh, squeezing. “You wanna try that again?” He asks, thumbing at the white that’s dripping down to Steve’s balls. Bent over like this, it’s hard not to feel exposed, splayed out, like he’s cut down the middle and Bucky’s peering at his insides with nothing more than amusement colored in his expression.

Steve gently lowers his head back down and shudders all over, using an uncoordinated hand to brush the bangs out of his reddened face. “Try what?” He replies shakily, heart racing with anticipation.

Bucky tsks, and before Steve knows it, there’s a sharp _smack_ followed by a heady rush of pain. Bucky had used his metal hand to land the hit, which was telling enough; if not by his tone, then that alone was enough proof to show that he’s not fucking around, not really. Steve likes this side of him: dark and rough and in control, the opposite of what he’d been during his time at HYDRA. He likes it maybe a bit too much.

The pain blossoms into thousands of tiny pin pricks, and Steve whines his dismay as Bucky’s hand smoothes over the handprint, doing his best to soothe.

“I know,” He coos softly, kissing the imprinted image of his palm. “You just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

From below, Steve’s cock throbs and leaks, a building bead of pre-come dripping down until it hits the sheets, connecting them together with a thin line. Steve doesn’t have enough in him (literally _and_ figuratively) to come up with another retort, so all he says is, “Please, Buck,” like that’d get him anywhere, considering what he’s gotten with the usage of that word so far.

Finally, _finally_ , after what feels like for-fucking-ever, Bucky places one last kiss near the fading mark and works on getting his boxers down and off. Though Steve can’t see what’s going on behind him, he could hear the sound of fabric shuffling and knows with his whole body that he’s bound to like what’s about to come next.

Bucky’s left hand grips his hip and holds him steady while his other hand guides his cock to Steve’s hole, simply touching there— no pushing, no movement, nothing at all. Just a hot, damp press that has Steve growling in frustration. But Bucky had a tight hold on him, and he knows how much it gets Steve going making him wait like that, and so all he earns in return is another one of those amused, gruff chuckles that heads straight for Steve’s dick at the same time as it frustrates him even more.

“Fuck me,” He demands. He’s tried to beg, and he’s tried to show what he wants; now it’s time to trade in his tactics for something a little more harsher.

Of course, with his luck, that’s the only one that garners a positive reaction from Bucky thus far.

He hums, low and predatory, like a wolf taunting a bunny with the glint of its sharp canines, and slowly bends over Steve's back, prowling above him; a satisfied beast with its prey caught between his teeth. Shifting over him means that he's pressing more weight down, that he's trapping Steve, leaving him inescapable and strained with his back arched and chest flush to the bed. The soft fabric rubs against his peaked nipples and sends a shiver down his spine, one that Bucky notices, and feels, and reacts to by smoothing his right hand upwards. Steve's trembling and slumped in defeat by the time Bucky's hand gets a good grip of his shoulder, using that leverage to steady himself as he presses in, little by little, until Steve starts trembling even more than he was.

About the halfway mark is when he stops and lets out a breath, the warm air gusting against the narrow space between both of Steve's muscular shoulder blades. He hums again, but the sound is uneven and the vibrations don't rumble through Steve's own chest quite as much as it did before.

"Christ," Bucky huffs, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his forehead to the back of Steve's neck. Steve whimpers, as if in agreement. "You got no goddamn right being this tight, baby. No goddamn right."

Steve shudders at his words, then drags in a gasp as their hips meet, Bucky hot and heavy against the backs of his thighs and his ass. Being sore first thing in the morning wasn’t what Steve was planning on. It’s not that he’s complaining; Bucky’s of an impressive size, to say the least, and if it weren’t for their earlier, tortuous prep, he’d feel as though he might split in half. Already, he feels the oncoming tenderness that’s going to come with getting spanked and then later, hopefully, getting absolutely railed into the mattress. That won’t happen if Bucky keeps moving at this rate, however.

Bucky pulls back by an inch, then slowly thrusts forward, grinding his hips in deep, loosening Steve up. He curses, and Steve moans, and then he sets that as his pace; first pulling out slowly, so that Steve feels every inch of him inside, and shoving his hips back forward, the blunt head of his cock grazing past that little bundle of nerves each time. Really, Bucky’s too _big_ not to miss it, but even so, it’s miles ahead of the overstimulation Steve was saddled with when there was constant pressure against his sensitive prostate.

“Faster,” Steve gasps, getting a good grip of the sheets with two tight fists. They’ve been ripped before, both by himself and Bucky, and so he has to be careful. Steve’s anything but when Bucky finally complies, however, crying out a sharp moan as he feels Bucky’s hips pull back until just the tip rests inside of him. The makeshift lube that was used was already starting to get dry and flaky, rubbing up against skin that will end up turning into a rash later if he’s not careful, and the slide out isn’t as aided as it usually is. Bucky fixes the problem by shoving his metal fingers near Steve’s mouth and demanding him to _suck_.

Steve does, like it’s Bucky’s cock in his mouth rather than the hardened metal of his fingers.

When there’s enough spit dripping down to his metal palm, Bucky takes his hand back, and not without a small groan at the way Steve’s cheeks hollowed, causing his fingers to pop out with a lewd sound.

Steve grins, satisfied, and pushes his hips back, now without the obstacle of a tight grip stopping him. Bucky makes a similar gasp to the one Steve made before and hurries to slick himself up, having to pull out for a brief moment, Steve’s cry of distress ignored, before shoving back in, sudden and rough.

Steve cries out again, but it’s muffled and breathless and Bucky’s already working to soothe him as their hips meet for about the dozenth time. He rolls them forward, aborting the deep thrust he wants to make. While Steve’s a moaning, breathless mess, Bucky returns his left hand to the broad shoulder in front of him while his right gets a good handle on Steve’s hip. Rather than stopping him from moving, he uses the leverage to pull him towards his own hips. It makes Bucky groan and Steve whimper little sounds of _unh, unh, unh_ every time he gets fully filled.

Eventually, what’s left of the fight in him stops. Steve slumps more fully against the sheets and gives into the pleasure, his taut muscles falling lax, and his mouth staying open and slack.

“God, right there,” Steve gasps out, arching his back further. The angle moves them both and guides Bucky’s cock straight into his prostate, head-on. Bucky busies himself with hitting that spot over and over again while his mouth works against all of the available, pale skin in front of him, leaving marks that’ll last not nearly as long as he’d like.

Steve’s hand struggles not to tear the fabric between his fists. Bucky’s fighting the same battle, only it’s Steve’s hip he’s worried about, not that it’d matter. Healing quickly doesn’t mean he doesn't feel pain, and Bucky would like to at least get through the day without feeling guilty over hurting him _again_ , as if he hasn’t done enough of that already.

Momentarily distracted, Bucky doesn’t realize that Steve’s hand, have now given up on caring whether or not it ruins the sheets, as if they can’t buy more later anyways, had slipped down and grabbed ahold of his own cock, squeezing the base to fend off an inevitable orgasm. What it looks like from Bucky’s perspective is that he’s jerking himself off, and he can’t have that when there’s so much potential for Bucky’s own hands or mouth or ass, depending on what happens when round one ends.

He gets a hand over Steve's own, prying it off and pinning it to the bed, right where the pillows are. Steve lets out a panicked noise and quickly explains, "Buck, I— I'm gonna come if you don't stop. _Please_ , God, don't stop." Steve realizes that what he's saying is counter-productive to what he's telling Bucky. He also doesn't give a flying fuck, because as much as he wants this to last, it's morning and he's hungry and he really, _really_ wants to come again; wants to feel Bucky following behind, spilling warmth into his insides.

Bucky bites the back of his shoulder and soothes the sting with a swipe of his tongue. "Go on, He urges, his voice sounding strained for the first time since they've started, and Christ, it feels like it's been forever since then. Since Bucky made a snarky comment and made a move; since Steve's gotten himself on his back, and then his belly, begging for what he knew Bucky would give him with time. The thing is, time was never on their side, so he's gotten used to getting what he wanted when he wanted, and not a minute sooner.

With Bucky's hips shoving into him mercilessly and his hands branding bruises into his skin, Steve gets in a final, lengthy, whorish moan and shakes through his orgasm with nothing but Bucky's cock working its magic. He sees stars, he swears; he sees the whole fucking galaxy. Bucky's not too far behind, either, his thrusts becoming erratic and sloppy. Steve urges him on by pushing his hips back and wincing when his spot is hit, which was now overly sensitive. He had thought it couldn't get any more keen than this, and he had obviously thought wrong.

"Fuck, baby," Bucky moans. He buries his head against the back of Steve's neck and pumps once, twice, and a final third time before he spills into him, mixing with the come that's already in there. Just as Steve had predicated (and wanted), a rush of warmth follows behind, making him moan happily.

When Bucky pulls out, some spills over and makes it to the crease of Steve's thigh.

"Fuck," He says again, this time at the sight. He runs a thumb over the mess and smears it against Steve's abused hole, red and puffy after its rough use. But the pain is, without a doubt, the most pleasant kind to exist. So are the bruises and hickies littering his body, and the dried evidence of what they've done on his pinkened skin is a reminder that no matter how in charge or bratty he acts, Bucky will always find a way to put him in his place.

And Steve would love every last damn second of it.

Steve stretches contentedly, collapsing down fully, his stomach now pressed against what is now deemed the Wet Spot. It's sticky and uncomfortable, but he's currently too lazy to care. Bucky joins him, albeit on his back and facing the ceiling, their shoulders kinda-sorta overlapping each other.

Bucky shoves an elbow into his side, snorting. "Good morning, by the way. I hope that taught you a lesson."

Steve lifts his head up from the sheets, eyeing the pool of— _something_ there. Maybe drool. Definitely drool. "It taught me something, that's for sure," He muses. Steve leans over and sets his chin atop of Bucky's chest, gazing up at him with sleepy, glazed eyes. Bucky looks back down, and he can't help himself; he cards a hand through the short blond strands and pulls him up into a short, sweet kiss.

"Now how 'bout some pancakes?"

Steve's next smile is slow and brighter than the sunshine out the window. "Only if they’re blueberry.”

“Of course,” Bucky murmurs, leaning in for another kiss. “Anything for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell some nsfw prompts at me on my Tumblr. (Can't figure out the link, so just look up "ctrl-alt-bucky.")
> 
> Any kudos or comments are greatly appreciated! So are any pointed out spelling mistakes, if you see any.


End file.
